


my hands no longer an afterthought

by thermocline



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, New York Rangers, Pining, Sharing a Bed, the classic gay kid tailspin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 02:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10630446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thermocline/pseuds/thermocline
Summary: Brady met Jimmy smiling. It’s branded onto his brain, a sense of floating. A sense of wanting to make Brady happy, always, every perfectly white tooth a manifest of every life they could’ve met in before this.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [capebretons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/capebretons/gifts).



> to c. as Adrienne Rich once said, "I make up this strange, angry packet for you, threaded with love."
> 
> thanks to lily, hailey, nicole, and julija. 
> 
> title is from Siken's "Little Beast". enjoy.

It started in February, or, wait - maybe it started - at Christmas? At the beginning of the season? Before?

 

Jimmy isn’t going to act like Brady’s not one of the main reasons he signed with the Rangers. His mother didn’t raise a damn liar. The thing is - he signs, makes the trip to New York, gets welcomed with open arms, and then Brady needs a roommate, and then PR needs a dynamic duo to promote, and then and then and then.

 

The point is, Jimmy’s not fucking easy or anything. And yeah, he fucked around in college, but he’s not stupid. He can live without it, letting the knowledge of who - what, really - he is balance on his skin without it seeping in. Boys, or rather sex with them, doesn’t have to become a necessity. But sometimes, there’s a touch, and -

 

+

 

"Is this ok?" Jimmy hesitates slightly. Brady's bed is gigantic. Logically, Jimmy knows it's the same size as his, but it feels bigger, more space between them. He’s hyperaware of every inch.

 

“Shove over,” Brady grumbles. 

 

“I’m already pretty far away from you,” Jimmy points out, amused. They’re on opposite sides of Brady’s bed - king sized, mind you. They’ve got the money between them for a nice apartment, why not go all out with beds?

 

Except, of course, Jimmy’s new bed didn’t get delivered in time for move in, because the universe is a cosmic joke conspiring against him. Sometimes the creature in his chest aches and wants and poisons him with thoughts of how Brady would look if Jimmy took his bottom lip between his teeth and bit hard, how when Brady sighs, Jimmy’s stomach goes red-hot imagining eliciting a similar sound. Then there’s the inevitability of how Jimmy will have to stay in the shower for five extra minutes as the shame of having thoughts like that at all threatens to bowl him over.

 

Brady pushes himself up so that he’s facing Jimmy and reaches out with one hand, wiggling his fingers in a funny kind of way. Jimmy files away his admiration of how strong Brady’s hands seem, how honest to god aesthetically pleasing his long fingers and huge yet deft palms are. 

 

“No, asshole,” Brady says, rolling his eyes. “You can come closer. You don’t have to be like, twenty feet away and setting an alarm for every two hours to wake up and whisper ‘no homo’ or anything.”

 

Jimmy busts out laughing. He can’t help it. “Okay,” he manages to respond, and then scoots closer, until they’re just a little less than an arm’s length apart. 

 

“Good eeeevening,” Brady drawls, and hooks his teeth over his lip. Jimmy snorts unattractively. 

 

“Hi there,” Jimmy responds. “So you’re a cuddler, huh?”

 

“Duh.” Brady rolls his eyes, as if it’s even a question.

 

Brady doesn’t have a girlfriend, yet. Fleetingly, Jimmy thinks that future him is really going to regret not taking this chance. 

 

Jimmy folds his hands closer to his chest, physically restraining himself from touching. He’s mostly afraid that once he’s allowed, he’ll never want to stop. But then again, if he holds back too much, it might look suspicious. 

 

“Big spoon or little spoon?” Jimmy asks all in a rush. His face is hot. Brady narrows his eyes. The corner of his mouth quirks up a little bit.

 

“Big spoon,” he responds, smiling. The corners of his eyes crinkle, and Jimmy can feel his little huff of breath. 

 

“I can work with that,” Jimmy smiles, exhaling and exhaling and exhaling, because what else is he supposed to do.

 

_ Oh sweetheart, _ the little poison in his chest responds,  _ if only he wanted you. _

 

Jimmy sleeps like absolute shit and wakes up with Brady plastered to his side.

 

A few drinks the next night shake the sensation for a while, at least until the season starts.

 

+

 

They skate really well together, four months in, and the PR team asks to interview the both of them for a  _ Boys in Blueshirts _ episode. It’s an apartment tour style video, and Brady treats it like MTV’s Cribs or something, much to Jimmy’s humiliation. When Jimmy’s mom calls to check in, he outright lies about the time they spent cleaning up for the taping (just under four hours, to be exact).

 

“So,” the interviewer says casually, once they’ve taken the camera crew through their place. “I know you two are only rookies, but what do you see in your future?”

 

Jimmy laughs nervously, tries to scramble some canned answers together and serve them convincingly enough. “Oh God, I have no idea. Hopefully stay here, keep with this team. It’s a great group of guys, and it’s a hard division to be playing in, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. I think we all just want the same thing, you know? Success, happiness, a nice settled life after hockey, and no injuries, please.”

 

Brady laughs at that, thankfully. Jimmy didn’t miss the way Brady watched while he was stuttering through his answer. He wishes he had the guts to pull Brady aside later, wishes he could knock on the door to Brady’s mind and see if he understands how Jimmy picks and chooses his language - partner, settled life, spouse, not wife, god,  _ please _ , if only Brady knew.

 

“What about you, Brady?”

 

Jimmy freezes, and hopes. Watches the way Brady glances at him and wrings his hands, smiling soft and sad and completely unreadable. God damn it.

 

“Well, uh,” Brady starts, and Jimmy’s stomach feels tight. “I’m gonna second what Jimmy said about potential plans for after hockey, maybe settling down on a ranch somewhere with a wife and a dog and some kids, you know?”

 

“You’re already halfway there by finding a girl who’s willing to date your sorry -” Jimmy starts, half spiteful, half lightheartedly teasing, with a vein of absolute devastation running through it.

 

“Hey!” Brady says, lunging out to steal Jimmy’s hat. His smile is so bright.

 

“You’re just mad because I’m right,” Jimmy gloats. His stomach is sinking.

 

Jimmy walks to Whole Foods after the camera crew leaves, stands in line in the bitter February freeze and turns the thought over and over in his head. A wife and a dog and some kids. A wife. 

 

They’ve talked about it before. Brady’s kissed boys, a few in college, dated someone on the down low for a few weeks and broke up when schedules got in the way. But maybe he isn’t, and maybe Jimmy’s dreaming. He’s seeing what he wants. He has no right to get in the way of Brady’s relationship, full stop. He’s living with Brady. He’s listening to Brady talk about his future and his wife and his girlfriend and Jimmy can’t be that. Jimmy can kiss boys, he can mess around, but at the end of the day - it’s safer. It’s safer to settle for girls and not let himself wander. It’s not the end of the world.

 

Something unfolds, taking over his thoughts, until all that’s left is  _ You know, he doesn’t need you. You’re not a part of his future, at least not to the extent you want to be. Not in the way you want to be. _

 

Jimmy clutches the packages of rice and lobster tighter to his chest, tucks his face down as if no one can see him, fighting the urge to start crying in the middle of the grocery store. The lull of conversation and beeps of barcode scanners and the hum of the industrial heating fades away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

 

_ Do you imagine a future with him?  _ he asks himself, and the scary thing is, well -

 

He can imagine coming home to Brady, kissing him on the cheek, greeting their dog and settling in for an evening without a game where he lays in Brady’s lap and Brady tells him about their day, the way Brady’s wedding band-clad hand would come up to cup his neck and pull him into a kiss, first thing in the morning, in the covers they fucked up together during the night. He thinks he could love Brady, really, not just kiss him and try him and leave him. He thinks of a wedding, Greenwich Village in May, maybe near Stonewall in one of the local churches, a quiet ceremony. He thinks about his vows, maybe, talking about Brady’s steady presence and adaptable nature and joking about how he wanted him for so long, and god. 

 

_ Yeah, I can.  _

 

Brady’s on the couch when Jimmy gets home, half-watching something on TV, on the phone with Madi, if his peals of laughter are anything to go by.

 

Jimmy toes off his shoes and lists silently into the kitchen, taking out various pots and pans for risotto. 

 

He doesn’t start crying until he’s certain that Brady’s gone to bed.

 

+

 

_ peaches is mad at me :((  _ Brady texts at 11:19 PM. Jimmy’s hands glow faintly in the light of the television screen as he picks up his phone. Brady’s out. Somewhere. God knows where, really. He said he was going out with the guys, and Jimmy didn’t push. He knows better than to encroach where he isn’t invited. 

 

Jimmy snorts and replies quickly.  _ maybe the 1st problem is that ur calling her peaches, dude. _

 

_ im kicking u out of the apartment thanks for nothing,  _ Brady replies within a second, and then, the typing bubble pops up, goes away, pops up again.  _ i got shoehorned into being dd for ryan and the guys again. i dont wanna?? they can pay for a fucking cab. _ __  
  


_ then take ur car and go,  _ Jimmy says. He finishes off the last of his beer. Charlie screams at Mac onscreen as the familiar theme of  _ It’s Always Sunny _ cuts away.

 

_ where the fuck would I go,  _ Brady says.

 

_ idk,  _ Jimmy types back, and then hesitates.  _ you just seem tense lately, this isnt the first time youve fought w madi.  _

 

_ maybe just hop on the highway for a bit _ , he adds. When he’s vulnerable, he becomes hyperaware of how the people around him are feeling, how it shows in the staccato cadence of their voices when they’re escalating towards upset. _ like shit is anyone out at this hour. call me once ur on the road. _

 

_ ok,  _ Brady responds. Jimmy can hear his sigh. He sits back, pausing the TV, and folds his arms into his chest, staring at the wall. Maybe it’ll be fine.

 

The thing is, it’s never been fine, really.

 

Brady met Jimmy smiling. It’s branded onto his brain, a sense of floating. A sense of wanting to make Brady happy, always, every perfectly white tooth a manifest of every life they could’ve met in before this. A promise, almost. They’re gonna be great together. Jimmy just knows, from day one. And Brady’s got Madison, who’s pretty fucking cool. She comes around on the weekends, when she’s not off being a prodigy at NYU, and she brings ice cream and bosses them around Whole Foods and tells back-to-back jokes wittier than anything Jimmy could hope to come up with in the span of like, a month.

 

She used to let herself in every Saturday like clockwork with a bag of groceries.

 

Three Saturdays ago, Jimmy heard them screaming at each other - what, exactly, he couldn’t tell you. He put headphones on and stayed determined to fall asleep with Drake crooning in the background.

 

(God bless whoever invented noise-canceling technology, by the way.)

 

Jimmy hasn’t really asked about it since. It’s not his business, anyway.

 

It’s exhausting, living with someone, choking the love you have for them in the hope that it dies quietly, but all it does is thrash and thrash and somehow stay alive to scream more.

 

He zones out, and the world is quiet, the city as close to dark as it gets, before his phone starts ringing. 

 

“Hey,” Brady says as a greeting, and his voice is soft, hesitant. There’s the whoosh of the highway behind his voice. It’s awful how easily Jimmy can picture him in the car, hands restlessly skittering up and down on the grips of the steering wheel, jacket slightly askew. 

 

“Hi,” Jimmy whispers back. It’s too loud, it isn’t loud enough. “What’s up?”

 

“I don’t know, man,” Brady says, heavy. Jimmy can hear the shadows around his eyes from the exhaustion of too many late nights. “I feel like I don’t deserve Madi.”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

It’s quiet for a second. Jimmy breathes in, out, in, out; stays level headed, feels oddly calm. He’s taken the same late night drive one too many times in the past few years. There’s something about the endless expanse of highway and the city flitting past through the divider between the windshield and the passenger door. One of the better ways to deal with restless urges.

 

“I’m too busy.” Brady sighs. “She’s got like, fucking fantastic stuff to do for school, classical lit and GWSS and all, and here I am getting on cross country flights every few weeks to play hockey.” There’s a loaded pause. The white lie stretches itself out into a transparent film with every second that passes. “I’m locked into this track of playing for what, ten, fifteen, years. And then I retire and I marry a nice girl -” Jimmy flinches at that. “- and we move into a modest half-a-million dollar house and do charity work and I go to therapy and maybe work as a coach or a broadcaster or do god knows what with my degree. I don’t know. I feel like I’m lying to myself.”

 

He cuts himself off at that. “Oh,” Jimmy says. “Jesus, Brady, you didn’t tell me. That sucks. I’m sorry.”

 

“I’m sorry for dumping it on you.” Brady’s voice cracks. The sound of the accelerator and the click of the turn signal is barely audible. “I wish it wasn’t weird. To talk about it with you.”

 

“It’s not, I promise.”

 

“No - that’s - look, I can’t really say much more about it than that. Sorry, Jim.”

 

“It’s okay,” Jimmy says, and it’s not, it’s not, it’s not at all. What the  _ fuck _ . His chest aches. “If it makes you feel any better, I worry about the future too.”

 

“Oh,” Brady responds. “Like, about the job thing, or -”

 

“No,” Jimmy starts. Something in his thought process comes unhinged, some impulse suppression gone haywire. He runs a hand over his face and sighs. “I just - maybe I don’t want a wife. Maybe I want a -”

 

Brady is dead silent on the other end. Jimmy stares at the television, unfocuses his eyes so that he can see the aura of the light around the screen.

 

“–Partner,” Jimmy manages, tedious, measured. “I want a partner, and maybe adopted kids, maybe a job as an advocate. Help kids to know they aren’t alone.”

 

Brady inhales sharply. Jimmy’s hands are shaking. The phone bumps awkwardly against his ear.

 

“There’s something to be said for being honest, I guess,” Jimmy adds a second later. “You get the feeling of the storybook ending, just not in the way Disney would write it, if that make sense.”

 

“Yeah,” Brady says. 

 

Jimmy laughs a little, giving himself a second to land the joke. “But it’s not like you would know, you already look like a Disney prince.”

 

“Oh, come  _ on _ !” Brady’s laughing. Nice.

 

“Whatever,” Jimmy teases. “Miss me with that noble steed shit.”

 

“You’re not the one with your hands on the reins,” Brady quips back, and damn, he’s good. “You can sit on the back edge of the saddle with that attitude.”

 

“Try me,” Jimmy says, and just like that, it’s back to being easy between them, the moment unaddressed.

 

_ You are silent on the phone because you cannot pick the words you need to tell him how you feel, because you are not sure how you feel, the uncertainty picked apart and reassembled with no mechanics or reason found. _

 

They don’t talk about it in the morning.

 

+

 

The days leading up to the last week of the season burn away quickly, everyone so tired that they pretty much fall into bed at the end of the night. 

 

+

 

Brady’s hands are huge enough to enshroud an entire pint of Ben & Jerry’s in one hand.

 

“You don’t even like that kind,” Jimmy says, indignant, because Brady got to the fridge first once they got home. “Fuck you.” It comes out less playful and more cutting than he’d intended.

 

“Jesus,” Brady says. “If you’re gonna be like that, just take it.”

 

“I didn’t mean it like that” Jimmy apologizes, backpedaling, and god, why is he fucking awful. “I just -” He sighs. Brady’s looking at him, and he’s wearing his team shirt, the seventy-six right over his breast. If Jimmy squints, he can imagine another line on the seven, warping it into a two. Brady looks at him expectantly, sinking back into the couch. Whatever was on TV isn’t important now.

 

Rangers Town night, way back. That’s where the hands thing started.  _ Smile, _ the social media coordinator had said, and Brady had leaned forward, hooked his chin against Jimmy’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Jimmy’s waist. His breath tickled Jimmy’s ear, and Jimmy could feel the soft rumble of his laugh when Jimmy startled and flinched, looking stunned on the spot in the first photo they’d taken. “Relax,” Brady said, squeezing a little. Brady ran his knuckles over where Jimmy had brought his hands down to envelop Brady’s in shock. Jimmy tried to remember how to breathe - 

 

And tries again to remember. Funny how life does that sometimes.

 

“Look,” he starts. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on with me, and how I feel about you, and I’ve told you too much and I don’t want to make things weird. It’s been what, ten days since that phone conversation? And you haven’t brought it up since.”

 

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about it,” Brady said. “You’ve been pretty quiet since Madi stopped coming around. Almost like you’re happier that she’s gone.”

 

“Don’t fucking do this. You didn’t even tell me that you broke up with her. You just expected me to know.”

 

“Like I’m gonna announce that you were right and I followed your fucking advice! Like I was gonna start shit with my roommate when we’ve already got the postseason breathing down our necks!”

 

“I don’t want to fight you,” Jimmy says, almost a yell, exhaled with such force that Brady recoils.

 

“I don’t want you to keep - lying to yourself,” Brady counters. It’s so soft that Jimmy has to strain to hear it.

 

“What?”

 

“If you wanted to bring guys around this whole time, and you just didn’t know how to tell me or whatever, I’m sorry. That I didn’t make it clearer. I don’t want you to think that I wasn’t cool, or that Madi wasn’t cool, with you being -”

 

“Into dudes?”

 

Brady bites his lip, picking at the skin on his thumbs with his ring fingers. He looks up at the ceiling, back at Jimmy. “Yeah.”

 

Jimmy laughs, hollow. “Brady. I appreciate it but like - you’re lucky.” His voice cracks, and god, now is not the time for him to lose it. “You tried it, and decided it wasn’t for you, and I wasn’t that lucky, and now -”

 

“Are you kidding me?”

 

“What?” They’re staring at each other. Brady just - unravels, his face falling, his body relaxing, and Jimmy has never seen him like this.

 

“Christ. Christ, I don’t want to -”

 

Jimmy goes from fucking furious to very confused to vengeant to apologetic in a matter of milliseconds. “I spend an hour on the phone with you. I fucked up. I told you all my shit, and you were there, and now I’d hope that you feel just as secure with me. Because you - ”

 

“I’m not,” Brady says, hoarse. “I couldn’t just drop it. I thought I could.”

 

Jimmy’s quiet. “Have you told your mom? Madi? Anyone?”

 

Brady looks so raw, so vulnerable. He’s crying now, tears shining in the dim light of the living room. “I thought - she was so great, and I loved spending time with her, but it wasn’t really - I  kept trying to tell myself hey, it’ll be okay, but I didn’t move past it. Thinking about boys. I don’t know. I’m still telling myself it’ll be okay. That I’ll find a girl and settle down and I won’t have to worry about it.” 

 

“Be honest with yourself,” Jimmy whispers. “Like how you just told me.”

 

“I like boys,” Brady says. “I don’t know. That’s it. I don’t know if I like both, or just boys, but I can’t - I can’t.”

 

“Come here,” Jimmy says, agonizing, and Brady folds into his arms. Jimmy’s hands smooth over his back, steady as he shakes and sobs. He clings tight, because that’s all he can do.

 

“Thank you for telling me,” Jimmy says, and Brady takes a deep breath in, forces it out. He winds his hands behind Jimmy’s back and pulls him in closer. 

 

“It’s okay,” Jimmy whispers, and Brady nods against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he repeats, muffled. 

 

The fluorescent light in the kitchen hums, and the world keeps turning.

 

Under the light, they stand so, so still.

 

+

 

When the team gets back from their trip to Montreal, Jimmy places a custom order from the Doughnuttery and pays extra for delivery. It’s worth it to see Brady grin sleepily when Jimmy answers the door, presenting a neatly packaged box of six donuts. Their delivery person had written  _ Go Rangers!  _ on the receipt as well, which Jimmy smiles at. It’s funny how much more the city leans in when the playoffs hit.

 

“What’d you get?” Brady asks, inhaling deeply as he sits down at their kitchen table. 

 

“Bam berry,” Jimmy grins. “Because you boarded Gallagher. Fucking beauty of a hit, right there. BAM.”

 

Brady laughs, and Jimmy feels warm from the tips of his fingers all the way to the center of his chest. “What else?”

 

“Cacaoboy and rainbow sprinkles,” Jimmy answers, pleased. “Something familiar, something new. There’s two of each kind, so we can each have one.”

 

“Perfect,” Brady says. They eat in companionable silence, the news chatter fading into the background as the clouds over the city start to clear. “I’ll make bacon, you can have the first shower.”

 

“Okay.” Brady’s face is flushed and his body language is easy, wide, sweeping motions that make Jimmy ache to be held. 

 

Comfortable. That’s how Jimmy would describe it. It should feel more out of place, how easy it is to delegate the different breakfast components and split showers and eat together and live together and - yeah, this is their life together. 

 

He may not know where Brady stands, but it’s pretty great as it is.

 

Jimmy takes his time in the shower, the steam cocooning around him. He pulls on track pants and a soft hoodie after he’s done, humming to himself. He might just be imagining the way Brady’s eyes linger a bit too long when Jimmy steps back out into the living area.

 

+

  
Game six it is, then.

 

The day immediately after the fifth - a loss, they were so damn close, but they can take the series tomorrow night, and at home, even better - there  _ will  _ be practice, if the coaches repeating it at least four times didn’t make it clear enough. Jimmy’s awoken by a soft knocking at his door.

 

“Hey, you up?”

 

“Well, now I am,” Jimmy grumbles back. It’s good natured. “C’mon in.”

 

Brady shuts the door softly behind him. “So, uh, remember a few weeks ago? When I said I didn’t know?”

 

“Yeah?” Jimmy studies him for a moment. Brady’s hands are shaky, and he looks nervous. 

 

“I still don’t, exactly,” he starts, and Jimmy nods, it takes a while. “But, uh. I know I like boys. I know I like you.”

 

“Oh,” Jimmy breathes. He wish he had something better to say. “Oh, fuck,  _ Brady _ .”

 

Brady leans back against the door, curling in on himself. “Bad?”

 

“No,” Jimmy adds. The moment feels so delicate it might burst. “I like you too. Why do you think I got so weird on the phone?”

 

“Oh,” Brady echoes, but he doesn’t move any closer. Jimmy can see him thinking. “The Disney ending. Just - not the way you imagined it. Like you said.”

 

“Yeah.” God, why is Brady so far away. “The Disney ending.”

 

“So is this the part where the prince kisses the sleeping beauty?” Brady’s still visibly nervous, but his smile is genuine.

 

“Duh,” Jimmy smiles, and finally, Brady is coming over, kneeling on the edge of Jimmy’s oversized bed and filling the space that’s been swallowing Jimmy whole. His hands come to rest softly on Jimmy, one on his cheek, one on his jaw, and Jimmy pulls him closer, relishes the contrast of Brady’s calloused palms to the smooth heat of his mouth. Brady settles on top of him, Jimmy fumbling to turn his alarm off so that they can have a few extra minutes.

 

“I guess that isn’t the no homo alarm,” Jimmy says, self-deprecating, and Brady laughs, leans down and kisses Jimmy so solidly that Jimmy forgets anything else he was going to say.

 

It’s nice to know that they fit together perfectly in Jimmy’s bed, too.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://avengersageofultron.tumblr.com).


End file.
